


A Day of Gifts

by junko



Series: Chasing Demons [12]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byakuya tries to tame Renji's hair and tease out the snarls in their relationship. However, he has more success deflecting his auntie's matchmaking...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day of Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Oseibo is a gift-giving opportunity that happens in December (between the 1st and the 20th), and Renji pretty well explains who gets gifts on this day, though I wanted to point out that, ironically, Byakuya could also gift his nakōdo, the family matchmaker, (Auntie Masama.) 
> 
> As many of you already know, four is an unlucky number because it's pronounced "shi," which is the same as death (and, of course, begins shinigami.) Nine is also unlucky because it's the same as "ku," agony or torture. Putting them together is just mean. 
> 
> I believe the card game Hanafuda (Battle of the Flowers) is the game that Ukitake and Kyouraku are often seen playing in the zanpakutou rebellion arc. It's, of course, a perfect choice for Byakuya, as cherry blossoms feature promenantly and are, I believe, part of a winning hand. I decided to give Hisana a long history with the plum tree.
> 
> The butterfly kimono is revealed! I hope you appreciate all its tacky glory!

The next time Byakuya woke, it was to the shifting of the bed as Renji got up to find the washroom. The sun was up as well, making its presence felt by the glare through the window that stabbed at Byakuya’s eyes. Sparrows twittered noisily in the eaves barely covering the sound of Renji’s long, loud splash.

From the water closet, Renji shouted, “If we ever break up, this is what I’m going to miss the most: chamber pots! What a luxury! No running outside in all weather or having to deal with fucking Kenpachi talking to you over the half-wall when you’re in the middle of a goddamn dump. Awesome.”

Byakuya just smiled slightly and shook his head at the rudeness of it all. But, then his before-tea brain suddenly registered Renji’s word choice regarding their relationship. “If?”

Renji came back into the main part of the bedroom suite. He was, of course, completely naked. Byakuya always marveled at the fact that this man apparently had no shame when it came to wandering around in the buff. Perhaps it was the tattoos that made him so bold since they distracted the gaze--though the shock of red at his crotch drew the eye just as impudently. The thick tangle of hair there was a shade or two darker, but still an amazing dusty red color. The sunlight made all of it glow like fire as it fell along the contours of his lean, taut body. 

“Okay fine: ‘when,’” Renji said a little morosely. He stood at the threshold, working loose the tie that held his hair back, apparently planning to try to comb out the bushy tail. “I just like the thought of ‘if’ better. Because, damn, but ‘when we break up’ seemed like a bad way to start the day, you know?”

Renji worked the knot out. Ruby red locks spilled down, partly obscuring Renji’s face. Stiff and thick, they stuck out at funny angles in places, but gravity pulled the majority down to fall just past his shoulders. Byakuya never grew tired of this look. It didn’t seem possible, but somehow with his hair down Renji appeared to be both softer and more… wild.

“I prefer the sound of ‘if’ as well,” Byakuya said, as Renji came back to join him on the bed. 

Byakuya sat up and pulled open the small drawer hidden in the bedside table. His eyes lit briefly on the sex toy still sitting out in plain view so clearly... used. But, after sucking in a breath, Byakuya was able to concentrate on what he’d been looking for. He knew Eishirō had started keeping a comb here, somewhere. Finally finding it, he turned back and held it out to Renji. 

Renji was staring at him with wide eyes and the oddest, almost shell-shocked expression.

“Have you truly never seen a comb before?” Byakuya asked, thinking: _that explains a lot._

Renji shook his head. “Combs I’ve seen-although what is that, imported mahogany? And who inlays something you drag over your scalp with pearl? Shit, my hair would probably break that thing. Okay, I’ve never seen a comb like that, but then I’ve never known anyone like you either. You amaze me….” He leaned in closer, ignoring the comb and his face splitting into a goofy grin. “You like ‘if’ too, huh?” 

Oh. He’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? 

Byakuya pursed his lips. This was the kind of foolishness that came of having company before ingesting copious amounts of strongly brewed tea. He sighed grumpily and acquiesced, “I suppose I do.” 

Leaning all the way forward, Renji moved in for a kiss. Byakuya accepted it--though even he had to admit, not very gracefully. As much as he loved the look of Renji’s hair when it was down, it poked and tickled. Renji’s ever-persistent tongue tasted of morning-after breath. 

He managed not to flinch, but only barely.

Any other man would have pulled back, angry or disappointed. Renji cautiously pressed deeper, his large hand coming up to cup around the back of Byakuya’s head lightly. Familiar, warm, supportive reistsu swelled around Byakuya’s shoulders like an embrace. Thumb, rough with calluses, traced the edge of cheekbone. The sensation elicited a shiver and a sigh of relaxation.

Having thus conquered him, Renji let him go. 

Byakuya still held the comb, and he playfully tapped Renji’s nose with it. “If you’d turn around, I could attempt to tame that unruly mane of yours.”

Sitting back, Renji grunted a laugh. “If you can, you’d be the first.”

“Hmmm, I always enjoy the challenge of disciplining any part of you,” Byakuya said, relishing the opportunity to regain the advantage and enjoying how Renji’s smile was swallowed by a much more serious, almost frightened expression. “Turn around,” he commanded.

With a small smile returning to the edges of his lips, Renji did as he was told.

Byakuya moved to sit cross-legged on the bed facing Renji’s now-turned back. For his part, Renji leaned down on his elbows so that his head was just over Byakuya’s lap. The lieutenant’s position also provided a full-length view of Renji’s naked body, which sprawled casually over the bed.

“Heh,” Renji said, tilting his head all the way back to glance lasciviously at Byakuya. “I think you’ll find my hair is much harder to tease out than my cock.”

As he had no hope at a coherent response beyond ‘gah!,’ which he chose to keep to himself, Byakuya firmly pushed Renji’s head upright. With the lieutenant properly situated, he set to trying to pull the comb through the wildness of Renji’s hair. Renji’s comment was no idle threat. The comb constantly snagged, and, unless he was careful, the thin wood could easily snap. Thankfully Renji didn’t seem to mind when the comb caught and pulled and yanked. 

While he worried at Renji’s hair, Byakuya’s brow knitted into a frown. What was he going to do with this man who constantly wormed his way under carefully constructed defenses? 

Renji liked to play the part of the clueless buffoon, but Byakuya knew that his lieutenant could be shockingly astute when it came to interpersonal relationships. It was part of what made him a good vice-captain, honestly. 

It also made him a scary lover.

Their previous games had leant themselves perfectly to covering a lot of Byakuya’s vulnerabilities. Last night had put an end to that. 

But would Renji actually ask about any of it? And, if he did, how much could be revealed with any hope of retaining Renji’s respect and admiration?

“I have to check-in today, you know, with the Third over this confinement thing,” Renji said with a little laugh at the ‘punishment’ Byakuya had come up with for Renji’s insubordination. It was clear from his casual tone that Renji was completely unaware of what had been racing through Byakuya’s mind. “So I should have news from the Sixth later. Got any plans?”

Byakuya let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “My relatives have begun to descend upon my sick bed. I’m afraid I may be entertaining the dreaded Auntie Massy this afternoon.”

“Whoa. Sorry to hear that,” Renji said, he started to tilt back again, but Byakuya put a firm hand on the top of his head to keep him in place. Renji laughed a little at that, and asked, “You need an honor guard?”

Byakuya shook his head. “Your presence would not help matters, Renji Abarai. Aunt Masami still hasn’t forgiven me for bringing you to the Hanami. Rukia will be here to throw herself on her sword, should the need arise.”

Renji murmured, “Bet that’ll be fun for her.”

“Yes, probably not,” Byakuya agreed, working through a particularly bad snarl. How was it that Renji’s hair could get into this terrible state in a matter of days? Byakuya had always assumed his lieutenant simply cared nothing for grooming, but now he wondered if Renji had to put in a monumental effort just to keep it looking as it did. He glared at a particularly stubborn tangle, as if hoping to humiliate it into submission. When that didn’t work, he sighed, returning to the subject of the other big frustration facing him today. “Given the choice, I suspect the Lady Kuchiki would prefer Rukia over you.”

“Oh, I’m sure. I scare her. For good reason. I was this close to punching that aunt of yours that first time we met, remember?” Renji asked, holding up his finger and thumb to indicate a very short distance, or, perhaps in his case, “fuse.”

Byakuya smiled. How could he forget? Renji had been amazing, telling off Auntie Massy in a way only Renji could get away with, but which Byakuya had dreamed of for centuries. It had been one of the highlights of the whole Cherry Blossom Festival, honestly.

Renji lapsed into silence for a while. Byakuya continued to struggle through the thick locks, and was just about to declare things ‘good enough,’ when Renji said, “Give up, why don’t you? I should get out of your way, anyway. You and Rukia need to strategize an auntie plan of attack; I can grab some food on the way back to the division. Before I go, I’ll check in with Eishirō to see where I can fit myself in your schedule. Maybe we can plan on diner. Or, if that fails, a midnight snack.”

“That would be lovely,” Byakuya agreed. He set the comb aside as Renji pulled himself up to begin dressing. As Byakuya admired Renji’s back tattoos as he bent down to retrieve his uniform from the floor, he made a mental note to discuss with the steward a better place for Renji to keep his things. “Please ring for service on your way out.”

Renji snorted as he shrugged into his shitagi. “Not going to get used to that anytime soon,” he muttered. “Service. Servants. I still say you ought to tip that steward of yours.”

“Perhaps I can find a way to gift Eishirō something at the end of the year, for Oseibo.”

“Oseibo? Are you nuts?” Renji had stood up to pull up his hakama and tuck in the shirts, and he paused to give Byakuya a surprised look. “You’re going to give him a fucking heart attack if you do that, Mr. Clan Head. Gifts at Oseibo are supposed to go up the chain of command.”

As if Byakuya didn’t understand such a detail! “Technically, the gift can be to someone you feel especially indebted to.”

“Yeah, but we’re normally talking about to a teacher or… you know, someone like Captain Unohana, who saved your life. Not the guy who cleaned up your dildo for fuck’s sake.” Renji finished tying his obi with an irritated knot. “Let me handle this, okay? I can get him something nice any time and not have it be that big of a deal.”

“You think you have a better grasp of the etiquette of gift-giving than I?”

“Actually, I kind of think I do,” Renji said, fishing through his pockets for a spare hair tie. “I’m guessing you’ve received a lot of gifts for all sorts of occasions. I’m sure you know all the right things to say to be appropriately humble and how not to rip open the gift in front of everyone. Which, oh my gods, I’ve screwed up. More than once,” Renji gave a little shake of his head at himself, as he started to gather up his hair. 

He gave Byakuya a long, regarding look before continuing, “I’ll bet you’ve never been required to give a gift in your life--except maybe to family or at major holidays. You’re just too far above. In fact, you’re the one no one dares offend by forgetting a trinket of appreciation for your hospitality. I, meanwhile, have found myself in the very awkward position of being expected to offer something when I got nothing to give. I’ve stepped in it a bunch, and, over time, learned a lot of ways of paying back. One advantage of coming from damn near the very bottom of the whole heap is that I have an intimate knowledge of who owes who what when and how much.” 

Renji twisted the last of his hair into its customary topknot and said, “So, yeah, I got this.”

Byakuya shook his head in disbelief at Renji’s apparently rather passionate relationship with gifts and giving them. Would this man never stop surprising him? He sighed, “Very well. I leave the matter in your capable hands.”

Renji came around to Byakuya’s side of the bed and leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on the top of Byakuya’s head. “Good. See you later, Taicho,” Renji said. 

With a casual sort of swipe, Renji took the sex toy with him as he turned to go. Byakuya decided not to comment.

#

Rukia and breakfast came in later, after Byakuya had a chance to freshen up in the half-bath. His injuries made getting in and out of the deep tub difficult, but he managed to wash himself and his hair without screaming or crushing Eishirō with errant swells of reistsu. He even had the presence of mind to ask the steward to fetch all the ugliest kimonos from storage.

Now Rukia sat across from him on the bed dressed for the day in her uniform, looking askance at the garishness of the teal and hot pink. Perhaps the large, fluttering butterflies wouldn’t be such terrible design, but the blue-green threads shimmered like a peacock’s feather. Having been in storage, the fabric was stiff and smelled faintly of cedar. Alas, the proper storage meant the colors were especially vibrant and brilliant. Byakuya wondered how Rukia could stand the glare as her eyes continued to roam over the material. She sipped her miso, clearly struggling with what she wanted to say about it, if anything. 

“Hideous, isn’t it?” he asked dryly.

“Oh, well… uh,” she started, but then a smile broke on her heart-shaped face and she nodded vigorously. “Very.”

“Our dear Aunt Masami will be pleased to see me in it, however,” Byakuya said. Pulling damp hair from his eyes, he took a long sip of tea. He lifted a sleeve and watched the sun glitter along the pearlescent finish. “Or perhaps she’ll be as horrified by it as I am. She gave this to me as a birthday present shortly after I married Hisana. I long wondered if it was meant as an exceedingly expensive insult.”

“But, both blue and pink are good colors, and butterflies are a symbol of joy and longevity,” Rukia noted.

Byakuya nodded. “Though, in great numbers, butterflies can be an ill omen. I haven’t bothered to count them. Perhaps she commissioned forty-nine or some other unlucky number.”

“She wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it past her,” Byakuya said, spearing some turnip tsukemono with his chopsticks. After all, he’d personally intercepted plenty of gifts for both Hisana and Rukia that came in numbers of four or nine. Maybe Renji was right. Perhaps Byakuya knew nothing at all about proper gift-giving. In his family, presents were used like weapons--piercing expressions of casual cruelty. 

They ate in silence for a while after that. From the crease in her brow, Rukia was no doubt reliving some painful memory of the family as well. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Thinking to shelter you, I brought you into a den of monsters.”

She tried to smile. “It’s not that bad. I’ve always loved it here. Everything is so beautiful.”

 _On the surface_ , he thought as he refilled her tea and poured more of his own. Though, he supposed, compared to Inuzuri, even his family must seem tolerable. Thinking of Rukia’s past, Byakuya asked, “You never told me you nearly died in a snowstorm.”

The sudden change of subject had Rukia looking whiplashed. Holding the tea bowl to her face, she blinked rapidly from behind it. “What?”

“Renji told me of the quince tree… and your yuki-onna.”

“My yuki-onna? But… when did Renji ever see Sode no Shirayuki?”

Byakuya pulled at the hair that had fallen into his face again. He had to actively resist sucking on the end of a strand or twirling it into a tight corkscrew, like he used to do as a child when faced with a difficult puzzle. “Your zanpaktō is a yuki-onna?”

“Well… only in my dreams,” Rukia admitted.

“And your dreams lately, do they involve my bedroom?”

“Nii-sama!” Rukia’s hands flew to cover her mouth. Her cheeks reddened, but Byakuya couldn’t tell if it was from the bluntness of his question or… guilt.

Byakuya turned his attention to finishing the remains of the smoked salmon on his plate. He explained, “We have lately been visited by a yuki-onna, who stands over the bed, watching. When I remarked that I had never known anyone who perished in a snowstorm, Renji corrected me. Now you say Sode no Shirayuki is likewise a yuki-onna. What else am I to think?” He glanced up at her, pinning her under his gaze. “Have you sent your creature as a spy?”

“No,” Rukia said, waving her hands as if to ward off such a horrible thought. “I would never do that.”

He released her from his scrutiny to nibble at the fish. “Perhaps it is an unconscious impulse?”

“No, nii-sama,” Rukia said firmly, dropping her hands and giving him a hard, serious glare. “You should know I’d never invade your privacy—or Renji’s--like that, not even unthinkingly. Besides…” her intense gaze dropped then, and her voice was low and shy. “I…uh, approve. Mostly. Not that you need me too, of course, but… well, I think it could be good for you both. But, beyond that—trust me, I really, really am not interested in details.”

“Indeed.” Byakuya had to suppress a smile, after all, he felt similarly about whatever might be going on between her and Ichigo Kurosaki. “But, then the mystery remains. Why is a yuki-onna standing over our bed calling me by the pet name preferred by my wife?”

“My sister? Hisana?”

He nodded, though he had to wonder if there was something in the water in Inuzuri that made people repeat the most obvious connections, “Yes. Hisana was the only one to call me ‘Byakuya-sama’ with any regularity, and last night the snow spirit spoke to us. She used that name and asked why I was leaving her.” He glanced out the window at the cherry orchard. The leaves would be fading soon. How he hated to watch them darken and fall, like plum blossoms in reverse. When he looked back at Rukia, she was clasping her tiny hands over her heart and frowning into her lap. 

When she noticed his eyes on her, she admitted, “Oh. I’ve dreamed that.” 

“You dreamed of speaking to me? As Hisana?”

“No… well, kind of,” she said, letting her hands drop, she looked up at him nervously. “Ever since you told me how you met—and, thinking back, even before, although I never understood the reoccurring images then—I’ve dreamed of a richly decorated apartment and you… coming to visit to talk or play hanafuda or listen to me sing. Only, lately, you don’t come any more and I wait on the balcony, looking toward Academy, sad with the thought you might never return.”

Byakuya’s heart ticked wildly in his ear. So much to process, but one detail hit him like a palm strike to the solar plexus: “Hanafuda? Of all the possible card games, why do you choose this one?”

Rukia looked slightly horrified at his sharp tone, but boldly shook her head, “It’s not a choice I’m making to try to hurt you, nii-sama. How could I know? The images just stood out in the dream. I remember because when we played ‘battle of the flowers,’ I always tried to get ume even though pine and sakura had twice as many points.”

He nodded his head, though it was he who felt as though he were suddenly caught in a dream, “Because she felt the plum blossoms were prettiest. In memory of our games together, the kimono I gave Hisana on our honeymoon was based on the card’s design. How is it possible for you to know such a detail?”

Rukia just mutely shook her head.

Could Renji be right about this as well? Did Rukia and her sister share some soul connection, “But, despite your looks, you’re not her twin,” Byakuya said. “How can this be?”

“I’m sorry,” she said meekly.

“Don’t be,” Byakuya said, sipping tea that had grown cold. “As you say, it’s hardly your fault what you dream.” 

Though, how cruel was fate, exactly? Not only must he look at the face of his dead wife every day, but now… now somehow Rukia shared Hisana’s memories? And, what was this in her dream about sadness? Was Hisana’s soul actually trying to reach him to tell him she felt abandoned? 

It didn’t seem like her—this jealousness.

But, there was one summer, shortly after they first began their affair, when his father sent him afield, to stay with the family of his betrothed and train with her father. Byakuya had not been able to see Hisana for months, and she’d treated him coolly upon his return. She’d even begun to refuse him until he forced himself shamelessly past her guard to pound and wail at her door. She still wouldn’t allow him in, until he shoved all the letters he’d been unable to sneak away to send, one-by-one under the loose floorboard. She’d sat on the other side of the rice paper reading them as they appeared, finally sliding the door open with tears in her eyes. That was when they both realized their relationship had become much more than paid companionship.

Perhaps… Hisana was owed an explanation after all. He could write to her again. He would plan a trip to her graveside and properly introduce Renji. 

But that still didn’t explain how Hisana could speak through Sode no Shirayuki.

Rukia was still watching Byakuya with a mixture of anxiety and concern. He nodded at her uniform. “I think, perhaps, a wiser choice might be the Kuchiki crest. Unless you feel the need to be armed in the presence of our aunt?”

Rukia smiled a little at that. “With Auntie Massy, I should probably leave all weapons in my rooms.”

“Yes, though we could both kill her with our bare hands and Senbonzakura rests just overhead,” Byakuya noted dryly. “However, during my convalescence, I have been practicing summoning hakufuku without the chant. I have no compunction against using such a spell if need be. The Lady Masama would never know what hit her.”

Rukia looked startled, but then she started to laugh. “I love you, nii-sama.”

#

Byakuya had mentally started the chant seven times already and the Elder Lady Kuchiki had only been in attendance for thirty minutes. 

Eishirō had put a lot of thought into the seating arrangement. There were cushions on the floor around the fire pit in the sitting room, though Byakuya had a sort of chaise lounge on which to lie. Masama sat seiza near his feet, Rukia by his side. 

Masama dressed casually—for her, at least--in only five layers of kimono. Compared to his tacky, brilliant colors, she looked positively somber in a muted green overlaid with a hand-painted mountain scene and white cranes flying across the sleeve lengths. Her ornately braided white hair was held in place with fan pins that dripped with jewels of amber and brownish smoky quartz. She wasted no time and laid a stack of papers on Byakuya’s lap. “Portfolios,” she explained, “for omiai.”

Without even a glance, Byakuya held them out in both hands for her to take back. “I’m not interested in entering another arrangement of marriage.”

“Byakuya, be reasonable,” she admonished. Her hands stayed folded, refusing to reach to accept the return of the portfolios. “Surely, this brush with death should remind you of the importance of heirs.”

He sighed and lifted the stack. He gave a nod and the papers were whisked away by Eishirō, who’d stayed nearby expressly for such services. They’d gone through this process many times before. Polite letters of apology and refusal would be sent to each family. 

Masama frowned, watching as Eishirō left to put the proposals in a drawer in the suite’s office room. “Won’t you even consent to a single introduction? The candidates have all been scrupulously investigated.”

“Indeed, but by whose iegara were they judged?”

“Oh, you have preferences? Ones you would discuss?” Masama sat up so straight Byakuya thought she might start bouncing on her heels. 

Byakuya gave Rukia a sidelong glance before counting items off on his fingers: “A strong military background, who graduated Academy in the top percent, preferably currently serving lieutenant rank or higher, red hair, and tattoos.”

Rukia choked and tried to stifle her laugh with a cough.

Masama had been clearly taking mental notes until she came to the last item on Byakuya’s list, “Tattoos? You’re mocking me.”

“Not really,” he said seriously. “You’re the nakōdo. Find me a person like that and I will consent to marry.”

“You will?” Masama sounded very suspicious. “You will court them properly?”

Byakuya nodded solemnly, and managed for the most part, he thought, to keep the amusement from his voice or eyes. “Yes and much more than that. If you find such a one who meets those exact standards, as well as your approval, I will not only court them to the highest standard, but I solmenly promise to wed.”

“Oh, nii-sama,” Rukia whispered quietly behind a fan displaying the Kuchiki crest, “You’re evil.”


End file.
